


circles

by yehetno



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: (is that a vampire?), M/M, References to Homophobia, grief! my favorite topic, i can and will find angst in any topic-- even flower prompts, lapselock, myungbinweek2018, um, what's another word for not happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 16:45:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15644823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yehetno/pseuds/yehetno
Summary: death claimed autumn, taking her warmth and replacing her with the empty frigidity of winter.death had its fingers around myungjun's throat.





	circles

**Author's Note:**

> as per [fy-myungbin](http://fy-myungbin.tumblr.com) today's theme/flower is Hyssop.
> 
>  
> 
> **Sacrifice:**  
>  _Agastache, commonly known as hyssop, represents sacrifice. The tall flower also symbolizes cleanliness, purification, and protection. Hyssop is considered by some as a “holy herb” that wards off evil spirits._
> 
>  
> 
> (idk how this happened, it just did. sorrrrry.)

**_(last rites)_ **

the wind moved through the narrow pillars of the plaza with a hushed whisper,  the bitter end of a sullen exhale.  the season was turning; autumn was dying, rusty warm hues ceding ground to cool blues and blackened barks.  the night began laying its claim on the sky earlier and clung to its reign longer each day.

leaves crunched beneath bin's heavy steps, echoing his haste to reach the apothecary.

a trip to the apothecary was never quite pleasant and always painfully burdensome.  the apothecary was an old man with leathery skin, a wrinkle for every ounce of greed in his body.  he was a bloodhound for desperation, and he wrung that desperation for every cent it was worth.  compassion could be commodified, and in his shop, it was.

bin hated going.  he held a distinct disdain for a person profiting off of pain.  the apothecary had to be a sadist; his patients--his  _customers--_ never got better.  they just managed their illness, unable to find a cure, handing over their paychecks with hope.  the pain was only prolonged.  it benefited the apothecary that way.

yet there bin was.  with his hands splayed on the worn wooden counter of an evil man, he begged for anything.  this was myungjun.  the most important life was in his hands.  the end was nigh, and bin needed something to make his passing peaceful, to strip away the pain.  it was torturous to sit by and watch without intervening.

he was a dollar short and a day late, it seemed.  disgust contorted the man's face when he recognized myungjun's significance since he didn't have enough money to purchase the man's sympathy and never would, he was ushered out of the small shop, door slamming behind him with enough force that the shop bell whipped back and forth for a minute before ringing out its final cry.

with the last peal of the bell, hope abandoned bin.

 

+

 

death claimed autumn, taking her warmth and replacing her with the empty frigidity of winter.

death had its fingers around myungjun's throat.  long gone were his words, his laughter, his wisdom, his singing.  long gone was bin's sunshine.  every inhale came with a labored wet wheeze.  he never opened his eyes anymore; they were welded shut, perhaps to save bin from watching the life flicker out of his eyes. 

there was a twin pain within bin, having to mourn in slow motion while death protracted every second of myungjun's pain.  he wanted to be selfish and crumple in on himself as his happiness was torn out of his arms.  he could not be selfish because myungjun was suffering, and he needed to make it as easy as possible.

for whatever reason, he accepted that he needed to let myungjun go.  it left him breathless to think about it as he dragged a damp rag across myungjun's face, trying to soothe the illness away to no avail.

he wished that myungjun could find peace. in any way.  bin could accept it-- if myungjun's peace was a final breath, bin was prepared for that. bin knew that he would do just about anything if he could find a way to take away the pain without ending myungjun.

+

 

snow fell silently, emerging slowly from the ink of night.

myungjun's wheezes came slowly, softer with each inhale and exhale.

bin couldn't watch. he--

he  _should_ sit there and torment himself just to give myungjun something familiar to cling to in his final moments, but that would stay with bin forever.  the sounds already looped in his head endlessly, but if he  _watched_ , bin would not be able to survive that.  this was self-preservation.

he sat on the threshold of their small home, hugging his knees and letting winter extricate the warmth from his house; the warmth would be gone regardless.  he stared out blankly as the snow floated gracefully to the ground while myungjun was dying a few feet away from him.  he let the cold air numb him.

bin failed at everything he'd sought out to do. he wanted to love myungjun forever, to protect, to be his companion through the sweet and the bitter.  he couldn't buy the medicine to numb the pain, and he couldn't hold his hand during myungjun's last fight.

and then.

it appeared out of thin air.  with soulless eyes and a soft face, an unnaturally pale cloaked figure stood in front of him.  it towered over him without an expression for a moment and commanded him: "invite me in."

another wheeze.  bin stayed frozen.

"i'll save him for you."

"how?"

it repeated itself, "invite me in."

cynism seized his tongue, "why would you do that for him? for me?"

"invite. me. in."

he didn't know why he did it.  he just felt compelled to say it: "come in."

maybe, bin hoped that it might kill myungjun.  save him from the exhausting pain of a slow death.  perhaps, bin hoped that it would take him too.  monsters killed indiscriminately. 

bin was numb.  myungjun would understand if he were anywhere near coherent.

he just didn't know whose pain the sacrifice was ending.

 

+

 

it took myungjun.

bin wished it hadn't.  he had nothing to bury but memories of myungjun.

it left bin alive.

bin wished it hadn't.  there was too much tedium in arranging a funeral, in grieving, in living.  he made a grave marker out of twine and brittle branches, planting it in the flower garden amongst the hyssops and hyacinths.  the garden was myungjun's passion; bin thought he would like his final resting place to be there.  he laid a bouquet of fragile dead flowers in front of it.

 

+

 

_**(solace)** _

 

winter yielded and spring bloomed.  color seeped back into foliage and dead bark curled and peeled away to reveal the smooth trunks of the trees surrounding him.  birds began to chirp, and the winds whispered with laughter.  the sun stole hours from the night without remorse.

bin's soul remained in winter, haunted by the last exhale he never heard.

myungjun's flowers shot up from the soil.

bin remained indoors, surrounding himself in the echoes of memories.  he wasted away.  (he deserved it; surely, myungjun understood his failures.)  this was his penance.

 

+

 

the spring equinox pulled bin outside.  he settled in the dirt next to myungjun and stared at the stars.

and then.

it appeared out of thin air.  bin thought it must be curious about a selfish human who decided to wither away.

but then.

bin saw it wasn't alone.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> delete me.  
> my [ tumblr](http://yehetno.tumblr.com). idk why you'd want it.  
> shout out to my homies who made it to the end of this diasterpiece. i hate me too.


End file.
